


Delineation

by ashkatom



Series: 100 Follower Ficathon [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He will never ask you for your help, or Disciple, because he’s got the idea in his head that quadrants have to be severely delineated an’ asking either a’ you, or Psi, for a little pale help would be in violation a’ that idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delineation

**Author's Note:**

> Hragl apparently fics can only belong to one series but AO3 I WANT TO PUT THIS IN THE FBATNVERSE SERIES TOO. Sigh. FBaTNverse! Spoilers for Act 3 (of FBaTN, not Homestuck)! More promptfic!
> 
> Prompt this time was: "I request… something from Dualscar’s point of view, FBaTN universe or similar setup, with the Sufferer, philosophical debate, hurt/comfort, backrubs (backrubs make everything better), gills/facial fins, and no unhappy endings. Or just most of that :)"

Your matesprit, you have gathered, is a ball of nerves held together with a rubber band made a’ quadrant-related neuroses. Normally, you’d make fun a’ him for it, given that he usually worries about the stupidest things you can imagine, like crooked pictures, but since you are currently in a building that is alarmingly tilted over a pool of lava, you can excuse his slight breakdown.

He’s hidin’ it well, you have to admit. His eyes are closed and his breathing is forcibly even, though he has to breathe through your cape or he starts swearing, but the only way you can tell he hasn’t suddenly become some kind a’ caped superhero and is actually panicking his heart out is the fact that he is crushed up against your chest and has your arms wrapped around him like you’re some kind of lava shield. Under your hand you can feel the thuddin’ of his heart and it is going far too fast for your likin’.

He was calmer when Disciple was awake an’ holding his hands. From what you’ve gathered of the girl, she’s good at gettin’ out of scrapes. You’re reasonably sure she’d somehow surf along the lava to rescue everyone if she had to, an’ you can see why Suf would feel safer with her around. Even now, with her asleep over one a’ his feet, he still has to check she’s there, peering out of the cape every ten minutes to see her curled up less than a metre away.

They’re not moirails, because you get the feelin’ Darkleer would have somethin’ unpleasant to say about that. But they are somethin’, and if he’s calmer with her around, you don’t think you even care what they are.

Havin’ a matesprit is doin’ strange things to you.

He will never ask you for your help, or Disciple, because he’s got the idea in his head that quadrants have to be severely delineated an’ asking either a’ you, or Psi, for a little pale help would be in violation a’ that idea. If you even so much as pointed out that sedatin’ someone is pretty fuckin’ pale he’d probably go an’ hide with Dol. So here you are, stuck with a lap full of matesprit who is just goin’ to keep panicking an’ hidin’ the fact that he is doin’ so if you don’t fix it somehow, without crossin’ his invisible quadrant lines.

He tenses when you move your hands, but settles again when you put them back on his shoulders and start pressing your thumbs into the muscle there in smooth, slow circles, careful of your claws in case you accidentally fillet him.

“What are you-?”

“I am takin’ care of one a’ the major stress points of the universe,” you bullshit away as you work your way along to his neck. “You’re so fuckin’ tense you’re makin’ me feel like a violin.”

“That makes no sense,” he argues, an’ it’s a fair point, you must admit. You retaliate by flicking him on the ear. “Ow! Dualscar!”

“I make perfect sense an’ I am deeply insulted you would ever suggest otherwise.” You’re talking mostly to talk now, focusing on the movement of your fingers and working the tension out of Suf one pass after another. As long as you keep him talking he’ll forget to start panickin’ again.

Hopefully.

“You have never made sense.” Despite his words, Suf hangs his head forward, and you take a moment to brush your thumb along his hairline. You had to go an’ start carin’ for someone, didn’t you? “I know what you’re doing,” he accuses.

“Shock an’ horror,” you say, and curl your arms back around his waist. He settles back against you, which means he doesn’t blame you for tryin’ at least. “Suf, you could stand t’have a little pale affection. There’s no harm in it.”

His gaze tracks over to the window that Psi smashed his way through gettin’ in here. You can’t see any lava, thank fuck, but the whole world has an eerie red glow to it that’s more than enough reminder. “There’s no harm for you,” he says, abruptly. “Who gives a fuck if a purple mixes quadrants, right?”

“Suf,” you say, an’ you’re glad he interrupts you because you have no idea what you’d follow up with.

“I never understood the reason behind splitting everything up into four,” he says, tearing his gaze from the window and looking back down at Disciple. “Psi was the only one raised in troll society, and he didn’t really give a fuck about quadrants either. So I thought it was normal to just like people instead of this fucking subdivision of affections that everyone else is used to.”

“So let me fuckin’ make you feel better,” you plead. “If you _know_ it’s stupid-”

“Yeah?” he snaps, and you draw back in confusion. “You _know_ it’s stupid! So where were you when I was burnt alive for believing in it?”

“Suf-”

“And apparently it’s ‘not that wweird’ when you get old enough!” he snaps, doing the air quotes and everything. “So where the fuck was everyone else who got a bit pale in the concupiscent platform? ”

You roll your eyes, since he can’t see you. “Suf-”

“I tried so hard.” His hands clench into fists. “There were all of you, all doing the same thing I was, except I was the only one who dared to say, ‘Hey, you colossal douchebags, seems that this quadrant system is the stupidest thing that has ever existed, oh, and how about not killing each other, you utter fuckwits,’ and not fucking one of them stepped up.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” you manage to get in, finally.

His jaw drops as he twists to look up at you. “Pardon?”

You shrug. “I’m not sayin’ you did the wrong thing. But the Empire was pretty fuckin’ strict on quadrants, so a’ course you’re goin’ ta get noticed if you start runnin’ around yellin’ that the quadrants are for fuckin’ losers.”

“I wanted to change things!” His mouth thins out into a displeased line, the same exact way Dol’s does when Spin does - did somethin’ to annoy her. “Not all of us are content with sitting around papshooshing our kismeses!”

“Shooshpapping,” you correct.

“Who gives a fuck?” He folds his arms and shrinks into himself. “At least the humans had their heads on straight. That’s at least one world I didn’t screw up. Point to Vantas!”

You sit for a while and drum your fingers on his hip, something which annoys him to no end usually. Finally you say, “You know, it’s not like everythin’ just fell apart when you died.”

You get a derisive, “Hmph!” as your answer.

“Really.” You dig your chin into his shoulder. “Have you even talked ta the girl sleepin’ on your feet lately?” When he doesn’t say anything, you shrug. “There was a whole revolution after you died, idiot. An’ you still had believers, look at Red.”

The silence is impressive. Especially for Suf.

“An’ so maybe you didn’t have a bunch a’ followers haulin’ you off your extremely well-fuckin’-guarded pillar, but you still had them tryin’ to change things in your name right up until the world fuckin’ ended, otherwise Karkat would’a been so much red on a cullin’ fork.” You frown, considering. “Unless the guppy talked the fuckin’ drones to death, which I do not doubt he could’a done.”

“You’re never going to die,” he says, out of nowhere.

“What?”

“You’re practically immortal.” He scowls at his knees. You can tell he’s scowling because he doesn’t do much else when he’s in this kind a’ mood. “And if troll society is still a thing, then I’ll be executed again, and if it’s not a thing, I’ll just die in another fifteen sweeps.”

“You are scared shitless of dyin’ again, aren’t you?” You squish him closer to you, because the thought of him dyin’ in another few sweeps is kind a’ terrifyin’ for your own self. “Forget about it. Once you die I’ll end up annoyin’ someone else into stabbin’ me, probably. Stabbin’ still works.”

He stays quiet, but after a moment he reaches up to your face and runs the back of his hand along one of your fins. You sigh into his hair and wrap your cape around him properly, before hesitantly running your hand over his shoulder in the most cautious pap known to trollkind.

“Shoosh,” you say, hopin’ that he doesn’t punch you in the ribs.

“Fuck you,” he says, but burrows further into your arms.

You drape a fold of cape over his face. “See the fuckin’ gratitude I get? Go the fuck to sleep already.”

He places his thumb over your lips for a long moment, then takes it away to make himself comfortable. Despite the fact that this world is his deepest fears come to life, he’s out like a light.

Disciple opens an eye and gives you a thumbs up. You nod to her before closing your eyes and gettin’ some rest yourself.


End file.
